MIA
by steelcrash
Summary: After his half-brother goes missing in Afghanistan, Duke learns his brother's disappearance has ties to a sinister element within the U.S. government. G.I. Joe/The X-Files crossover.
1. Chapter 1

M.I.A.

Disclaimer: I do not own G.I. Joe. It belongs to Hasbro. Same goes for "The X-Files," which is owned by Fox.

Prologue:

Lt. Vincent Falcone, codename Falcon walked with the Russian Ilya Fedotenko, exchanging small talk. The Russian soldier was good company. A bit surly at times, but he was swiftly becoming a good friend. He was the European equivalent of Falcon's own position as a member of the Joe team. He was also a welcome distraction to break the tension on guard duty. Afghanistan wasn't a pleasant place to be.

Falcon watched as the other man drew a pack of cigarettes from his parka and tried to light up. After several tries, he finally managed to get the task done.

"Don't you know those things will kill you?" Falcon asked, watching the Russian blow smoke rings in the dark.

"And didn't anyone tell you interrupting a man while he's enjoying one of these will kill you?" Fedotenko asked, his heavily accented English and menacing tone overridden by the smile on his face.

Chapter 1

January 2002

Sgt. Conrad S. Hauser, known to his friends as Duke, shielded his eyes to watch the Tomahawk chopper land on the deck of the U.S.S. Flagg, the aircraft carrier that at the moment, housed most of the Joes on active duty. The chopper hovered inches above the flight deck, dropped off its passenger and took off again. Duke didn't bother to acknowledge the salute Liftticket threw his way as he took off. His attention was focused on the man standing in front of him.

Flint waited until the chopper was gone to deliver his news, news he knew Duke wouldn't want to hear. He unconsciously pulled his jacket tighter against the cold Atlantic wind, trying to steel his nerves.

"Did they find him?" Duke asked.

"No," Flint said. "But that doesn't mean anything. He wasn't with the. . .cargo being shipped back stateside."

Duke's shoulders hunched a bit. Flint placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll find him Duke, either way," he said. "Don't give up hope."

"I won't Flint. I know he' s still out there, somewhere. He has to be."

Later that night, alone in his berth, Flint fumbled in his breast pocket. He pulled out a set of dog tags. "Lt. Falcon" was stamped on the metal tags. He didn't, couldn't tell Duke he had them, where they were found. He let them dangle a few more seconds before putting them away.

The camp in Afghanistan had produced little of value, only the remnants of human occupation and the evidence of the hasty retreat the rag-tag band of fundamentalist terrorists had beat before the cavalry had shown up. That and the I.D. belonging to one Lt. Vincent Falcone, Duke's kid half-brother, who was MIA.

Duke was right. If Falcon could be found, it would be done. Flint owed his friend that much. And he had dropped everything else to fulfill Duke's request, as much as he could.

-----

Three weeks earlier. . .

Falcon sat with his back against the wall, elbows resting on his knees. He was being held captive by a small group of fighters who had gotten lucky when they ambushed his Special Forces unit. As far as he knew, he and Ilya Fedotenko were the only ones left alive, and he was still alive for the obvious reason he as an American G.I. who could know valuable information.

He'd been knocked around several times, but nothing as bad as the beatings he'd received in the past while being pumped for information by another certain international outlaw organization.

Compared to a Viper, the locals were mere amateurs. However, they had been very lucky. That didn't matter. The only thing that did was getting out and making back to his friends alive.

"Duke probably thinks I'm dead," he said. Falcon didn't care if anyone heard him. Talking to himself seemed to keep his captors off-guard. And it kept him alive. If he talked long and loud enough, maybe they would hear something useful.

He also hoped Fedotenko could hear him, but it was unlikely. He hadn't seen his companion since they'd been shoved into their individual cells, not even during the infrequent times they took him out of his cell.

Night had long since fallen but he couldn't sleep. Falcon was restless, cold and bored. The camp was more active than usual for the time of night, more voices breaking through the silence.

Falcon scrambled to look out the peephole that served as his window to the outside world. All he could see was people staring up at something in the sky. He tried to get a better look but only saw an eerie white light bathing the camp.

It was then replaced by what sounded like a sonic boom followed by an explosion. Then fire rained from the sky and the ground shook as whatever had been in the sky seconds before made impact. Falcon hit the ground, covering his head. Burning debris from the fallen craft rained down on everything, including the shack where he was being held.

Falcon came back to his senses and got to his feet, realizing he was free. All hell was breaking loose around him but he wasn't going to leave without looking for Fedotenko. He stumbled through the debris and started yelling, not caring if anyone tried to stop him.

It didn't take long before he heard a weak reply in Russian. Falcon stopped only long enough to help the other man to his feet. He looked around and spotted one truck that wasn't damaged. Falcon shoved Ilya into the truck and waited long enough for the other man to climb in. He gunned the engine and headed the other way as another light appeared over the camp.


	2. Chapter 2

M.I.A.

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own G.I. Joe. It belongs to Hasbro. Same goes for "The X-Files," which is owned by Fox.

Walter Skinner sized up the young man sitting in his outer office. He was clean-shaven, in need of a haircut if he was military and much too relaxed and well-kept for someone who had just gotten out of terrorist captivity. He was of medium build, muscled with black hair and blue eyes that held more than their fair share of mirth and mischief. He was wearing boots, loose-fitting jeans and a sweater, both in the current style. Skinner opened the door and the young man stood up and snapped to attention. The FBI assistant director merely nodded as he watched the other man walk into his office.

"Take a seat lieutenant," he said. "I'm A.D. Walter Skinner. You're not in trouble. I just want to know how a lone Green Beret officer ended up in the care of one of my agents."

"I can't tell you that," Falcon answered. "If you'll allow me to contact my commanding officer. . ."

Later that day. . .

Gen. Clayton Abernathy stood when he saw his old friend Walter Skinner coming his way. The two men shook hands and sat down. The waitress took their orders and the two waited until she was gone to get down to business.

"Clayton, I want to thank you for getting back with me on such short notice but there is something I need your help with," Skinner said.

"I'd be glad to help if I can, but I don't see what the FBI would want with the Army's assistance," Hawk said.

"One of my. . . agents in ran across a soldier claiming to be Army," Skinner said. "He's clearly military but he won't give us his name, only a nickname, if even that. He's polite but uncooperative. And I just want to make sure he gets back to where belongs before one of my agents gets wind of the case."

"Why don't you just release him? I'm assuming he's being held?"

"Protective custody. It's not like he's done anything criminal. But I'm treating this with kid gloves. I can't just let him walk free, not without questions. And he could be holding back information that could endanger his life," Skinner said. "Information people are willing to kill for.

That put a new spin on the conversation.

They then switched to small talk about work and other things and Clayton excused himself after agreeing to do what he could, leaving Skinner alone.

He hoped his friend could help, though they rarely saw each other anymore. Their lives and careers had taken different paths--his own from the military to his position at the FBI while Clayton's had stayed with the military, though Skinner was unsure what Clayton did anymore.

He was a brigadier general who seemed content with the rank he had attained and a man who cared little for what others thought. Once, Skinner knew, he held job within the Pentagon but suddenly earned himself a field job. It was a mystery he was unwilling to probe and he was loathe to call in his friend's assistance in the matter because it was a relationship he had no desire to compromise. Too many of his relationships were already gone or irretrievably damaged because of the strain of his already tough job and the added burden of supervising Fox Mulder. And he also didn't want Clayton to come to the attention of a certain shadowy someone who smoked.

----------

Hawk made a few inquiries over the phone on the long drive back to the base. As far as he knew, no one knew anything about a missing soldier. Or, if there was someone AWOL, they didn't want it to get out.

So intent he was on his thoughts and driving he didn't notice the car pulling up beside his Jeep until it was too late.

Before he could act, the other driver fired and forced him off the road.

----------

Duke stormed down the hall, not stopping for anyone who got in his way. Nurses and orderlies scrambled out of his path as he grabbed the first authoritative person he saw by the lapels of his white lab coat.

"Where's General Hawk?" he demanded, nearly lifting the other man off the ground.

The frightened, pale intern pointed down the hall, where Duke headed. Outside the door to what he assumed was his commanding officer's hospital room, were two armed guards in black fatigues. They barred his entrance when he tried to get past.

"Who are you? Who authorized this?" he asked, but was ignored.

The two guards didn't flinch, nor did they spare him a glance.

"I did," said a voice, as a firm hand grabbed Duke by the shoulder and hauled him around.

"Who are you? What's going on here?" Duke demanded.

"I'd like to know that myself," Skinner said. "I'm Walter Skinner, Assistant Director with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Now, are you going to give me some answers or do I need to call security and have you removed?"

Later, when Duke had regained a semblance of self-control, he was sitting down the hall from Hawk's room, watching the bald FBI agent talk with a nurse who had just left the room. He glanced Duke's way with a stern look and turned his attention back to the nurse. Duke continued to gaze at the older man, trying to figure out what the FBI was doing involved in a military matter.

He already had enough to deal with without the added responsibility of total command of the team, and the burden had just been turned over to him because of the news he'd received earlier.

Dial Tone had been the one to deliver the news that Hawk was injured. And then it had fallen to Duke to find out what had happened because he wouldn't burden anyone else with his job. No one yet knew, besides himself and Dial Tone that anything was amiss and though Dial Tone had his quirks, he was intelligent enough to recognize that if he leaked anything before Duke addressed the team himself with the facts, Dial Tone would end up assigned to a one-man communications post somewhere in Greenland.

Right now, all he wanted to do was learn Hawk's condition and get the hell back to the base. And he didn't need some pencil-pushing FBI desk jockey getting in the way of his duty.

Finally, Skinner made his way over to the agitated man.

"Walk with me," Skinner said. Duke stood and fell into step beside him. When they were out of earshot of anyone, they stopped and Skinner turned to face his companion.

"Now, are you going to tell me who you are and what you're doing here?"

"I'm Sgt. Duke Hauser. The man in that room is my commanding officer. I came to see what happened," Duke said. It was the bare minimum he would tell a civilian, no matter his position.

The answer seemed to placate Skinner, who visibly relaxed.

"He was run off the road. He's been shot, but they got the bullet out. He's critical, but stable," Skinner explained.

It was Duke's turn to pose a question.

"What are two armed federal guards doing outside his room? And what's your involvement?"

"I asked for his help on a case," Skinner answered. "Look--it's late, I'm sure this was a shock. Go home. Get some rest. Let me know how to get in contact with you. I'll get in touch if anything changes. He's in good hands."

Duke reluctantly gave the man a number to call and watched as he walked away without a backward glance.


	3. Chapter 3

MIA

Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own G.I. Joe. It belongs to Hasbro. Same goes for "The X-Files," which is owned by Fox.

Dial Tone threw his arm over his face as light shined into his eyes from the open door to his quarters. Duke gently shook him awake. Despite his own mood, there was no need to upset the young communications expert. He started to sit up but Duke pushed him back down.

"Shh. Don't get up," he said.

Dial Tone obeyed and by this time, was fully awake. And Duke could see the question in his eyes.

"Hawk's fine, for now. The wouldn't let me see him. I need you to keep this quiet, Dial Tone. There's a lot more going on here than meets the eye," Duke said. "There's something I need you to do. . ."

----------

Hawk slowly came back awake. His shoulder was on fire and he ached all over. Then he noticed the tubes and wires connecting him to several different machines and he realized something must've happened. What, he couldn't remember, but he did know who he was and where he needed to be. As he tried to sit up, a doctor came through the door and gently but firmly pushed him back into place.

"General Abernathy, I'm Dr. Lane. It's good to see you're awake so soon. Do you remember what happened?" he asked as he checked Hawk over.

"No. . .No I don't. How did I get here?"

"You were brought in last night with a gun shot wound and other injuries incurred when your Jeep crashed into a fence. You've lost a lot of blood and have a concussion and a skull fracture. Not to mention several broken ribs and cuts and bruises. You won't be winning any beauty contests any time soon but you'll live," the doctor said. "Is there anything you need?"

"I need to get out of here. . .my men. . ."

"There was a very determined young man who came crashing in here last night demanding to know where you were, but luckily, that FBI friend of yours got rid of him," Dr. Lane said. "But unfortunately, you're not going anywhere."

The doctor left and Hawk closed his eyes.

Just what the hell had happened? Duke must've been the one to come last night, he thought.

And his "FBI friend" must be Skinner.

He shuddered and then grinned. That meeting was one he didn't want to imagine. It was his last conscious thought as he drifted off to sleep.

-----

Falcon walked around the suite he'd been assigned several days earlier. He was going stir crazy and wanted out. The FBI agents were friendly but insistent that he do as they said. The only difference between them and his captors in Afghanistan had been the clothes, language and his surroundings.

And the circumstances he was being held under. This time it was packaged under the guise of his own safety, which was supposedly at stake.

He didn't are about his safety. He only wanted to go home to the base, back to his duties, friends and most of all, let Duke know he was alive. They'd had their differences over the years, but his brother was the only family he had left, the only blood they had was each other. But he guessed the team was his extended family.

"Hey, can I go for a walk?" Falcon asked the white collar goon who was reading the paper on the couch.

"Sorry. You know the rules," the agent said.

"Can I make a phone call?" Falcon asked. "Surf the Internet?"

"No and no," the agent answered.

"Look, I have family. I need to let him know I'm alive. At least let me make a phone call to call my C.O. His name is General Clayton Abernathy. He can be reached at the Pentagon," Falcon said.

The agent lowered the paper and frowned.

"What did you say?"

"I need to call my C.O. Clayton Abernathy at the Pentagon."

The agent got out his cell phone and made a call, talking briefly. He hung up, walked to the door and let himself out, but not before throwing Falcon a look he couldn't read.

----------

Dial Tone slammed shut his laptop when Mainframe walked into the commissary dressed for the outdoors.

"Hey buddy, wanna come with me and exact some revenge?" Mainframe asked.

"Nah, sorry. I can't," Dial Tone replied.

"Why not? You're off duty and Tunnel Rat and Law need to be taught a lesson for what they pulled the other day," Mainframe retorted. "I know Flint told me to leave it alone but this is too good a chance to let pass by. They're on guard duty until dinner time. They'll be out there all alone. Ten minutes out, ten back on a Snowcat. Nobody'll ever know. . ."

Dial Tone wasn't phased.

"I'm working on a special project. I can't let it slide to help you get yourself shot. They'll be alone. With guns. The better to shoot you and stash the body somewhere."

Mainframe frowned at his friend. "You're sure? You're serious? Who ordered you to. . ."

"Top secret. Now get out of here," Dial Tone said. "Don't get shot."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine," Mainframe said, walking away.

Dial Tone shook his head in bewilderment then jumped out of his seat when he hit the jackpot when he opened the laptop.

There on the screen were the encrypted files he'd been trying to access all morning. He was nowhere near the hacker Mainframe was but he'd picked up a few tricks of the trade. He was brought back to Earth by the sound of a familiar voice.

"You hacked the FBI database?" Mainframe exclaimed, incredulous. "I didn't think you had it in you."

Then it was his turn to get a reality check when a hand gripped his shoulder.

"And you're not telling anyone about it. Mainframe, you just earned yourself a two-week vacation to the Yucatan. Recondo could use some help on a recon mission and you need the field experience. Go pack. You leave in 10 minutes," Duke said, with a look on his face that more than suggested trying to disobey would earn him a trip to the stockade.

Mainframe stammered "Yes sir" and scrambled out of the room.

"Wasn't that a little harsh?" Dial Tone asked.

"No one can know about this," Duke answered. "He'll be fine. Now let me see what you found."

It didn't take long to dig through Skinner's file. The found nothing really incriminating.

"Almost 20 years with the Bureau," Dial Tone said. "Lied about his age to join the Marine Corps. Two tours in 'Nam, then college on the G.I. Bill. His service record with the Bureau, agents he supervises, not much else."

Duke thanked him and told him to keep digging. There had to be some connection between the FBI and Hawk's accident, and he had a gut feeling he was right. At the moment, Walter Skinner was the least of his worries.

----------

Falcon told his story for the fifth time, this time he was telling it to A.D. Skinner, another assistant director by the name of Kirsch, who kept giving him dirty looks and a stern-looking red-headed agent whose name he couldn't remember. Occasionally, she would stop him and ask a question, and he'd answer, but he'd finally hit his limit.

Skinner's secretary interrupted and Falcon watched him leave the office as the woman kept grilling.

"What did you see exactly?" she asked.

Falcon sighed. "It looked like a plane or a chopper of some kind, only it moved differently. It hovered with no sound and moved very fast. That's all I can tell you," he answered. "And that's all I'm saying. Look, I want a lawyer or something. I know my rights and they're being violated. . ."

Skinner slammed the door as he entered, interrupting.

"This meeting is over," he said.

Falcon watched as he threw out Kirsch and the agent called Scully.

"One of my agents finally took the time to inform me that you revealed this morning that you are under the command of General Clayton Abernathy," Skinner said. "Is that true?"

"Yes," Falcon said. "Why would I lie? What's going on? No one has let me contact my superiors or my brother. They need to know I'm alive. And unlike everyone believes, I'm not AWOL. The unit I was assigned to in Afghanistan was wiped out. I was captured during the ambush. They caught us by surprise. I got out with a Russian soldier. As we were getting away, that funny-looking aircraft showed up and that's the last of it."

"I believe you," Skinner said. "But did it ever occur to you that what you saw might not have been an airplane?"

Falcon looked at him in disbelief.


End file.
